


swallow your tears

by bearyblu



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bulimia, Coping, Denial, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), No Beta, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), We Die Like Men, bad coping, deflection, humor for coping, idk im projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26784937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearyblu/pseuds/bearyblu
Summary: The third time his manager had heard him throwing up, he’d knocked on the bathroom door and after a concerned “Rich?”, asked him if he was ‘bulimic, or something’. The laugh that emerged was bitter, and the bile trailing up and after sound burned. “Not that famous yet. Or that pretty.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	swallow your tears

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to me projecting my bulimia onto richie thanks for your service <3  
> if you’ve never been thru an Ed or aren’t very educated, this might not fit ur exact idea of what bulimia/an ed is  
> but i mirrored my own experiences into this. 
> 
> also I haven’t written in months. lol
> 
> very obvious tw

Truly, Richie never meant for things to get this out of hand. Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad.

It all had stemmed from a good place! He just happened to notice, after his biggest interview of the year, that the accidental upchuck removed all worries over his responses. He’d fumbled, confused two different sentences in his head, and spitted them out in one messy lump. Honestly, he was more pissed at himself than upset. Regardless, the unintentional removal of his stomach’s contents pulled the chaotic insults out of his head as well. So, yeah, maybe he conducted some experiments to see the legitimacy of this tactic. 

It was grossly fascinating, the routine pressing of fingers down his throat. Once turned into twice turned into a gradual daily occurrence, and just ‘relieving stress’ turned into full meals coming back up. He didn’t perceive it as that big of a deal, honestly. Everyone had their poison, right? Cigarettes, alcohol, one night stands- Yeah, he’d gone through the rodeo, and he finally found the bull that threw him off without running over anyone else in the process.

Besides, he’d definitely started to notice his “dad-bod” descending into a “is-that-even-a-person-bod”. Really, it was a win-win situation here.

Hiding it was easier than he’d thought, with all the hustle and bustle backstage immediately after a set anyway. Interviews or premieres were even easier (save for the one time the bathroom echoed like hell, so he ended up finishing his job outside in a shrub). Even easier was to just chock it up to alcohol, or shitty food if they went to a new venue. The third time his manager had heard him throwing up, he’d knocked on the bathroom door and after a concerned “Rich?”, asked him if he was ‘bulimic, or something’. The laugh that emerged was bitter, and the bile trailing up and after sound burned. “Not that famous yet. Or that pretty.”

The bad part of it was that he didn’t really feel bad for lying. He just felt bad that he had to lie. Sure, he wouldn’t blame his friends, but he knew they’d worry over him if they found out. And really, that was unnecessary. He didn’t cover it up because he was ashamed or thought it was harmful, just because other people would. It would parrot the tangent Stan had gone on when he spotted seventeen year old Richie with a pack of Marlboros. This was helping him more than hurting him, and everything had some pros and cons. He simply had weighed them out and made his choice. A done deal. And adult Richie didn't need, or want, parenting. 

It wasn’t hard to tell Beverly that her wine tasted like rotten piss, and that’s why he’d gotten sick. It wasn’t hard to pretend the gore in a movie had gotten to him, given the fact Ben seemed way more grossed out by it. It stung, but wasn’t hard to tell Eddie that he was just stressed when he was found out one night, having wrongfully assumed his boyfriend was asleep. 

It wasn’t a lie at that point, really. It had all stemmed from stress.

Maybe Richie’s shiny new coping mechanism had manifested itself into something more sinister, but he wouldn’t admit it. It just clarified things, really. Surely, he was always this anxious and on edge, and this just let him see it for it was. And, yeah, honestly, he’d never had a great relationship with his body. Humor could only cover so much, and he was pretty glad he’d gotten a reality check now, before his appearance got even worse. Even now, at his worst, with puking being just as much of his routine as brushing his teeth, he didn’t really change his body much. His weight was practically stable (not that he checked- his clothes were a gracious indicator on their own). Preventing further changes for the worst was better than nothing, he figured. 

Being tired was nothing new. This different form of exhaustion was easy to brush off as, of course, a symptom of stress. Eddie had chastised him for his unruly hair, so once it started thinning out, he made the executive choice to trim it some. Returning from a tour was clearly why his head and stomach ached (“the weathers fucking bipolar, dude.”)

Unsurprisingly, his downfall was his stupid mouth. His tours were over for the year, with him making sure to take off from traveling after mid-October. He’d sacrificed too many holidays with actual companionship years prior, and he was ready to take advantage of the season with his partner. Besides some comical tweets here and there, semi-local shows were all he did for the time being. The losers came as they could, which he was fine with. They had lives. However, Eddie’s life was centered around Richie’s, and vice versa. 

Anxiety plagued him before sets every so often, which wasn’t unusual. But by now, he’d had his technique down. Come up with content off of his own hardships and problems. He didn’t need to conversate about his emotions when he could turn it into something funny. But, he still didn’t have the best sense of what jokes were too far for outsiders, and maybe he should really work on that. 

The set up was a joke about girls with eating disorders, and sex. “Do you think anorexics can eat jizz? Like, how many calories are in a cup of cum?” This topic led into a fabrication of dating a bulimic, and then trailed into what being intimate with her would be like. “I mean, can you imagine she starts going down on you, and then bam- barfs all over you?! It’d look like a fucking witch’s brew.” He’d shook his head, stepping across the stage. “Eye of newt, toe of frog.. dick of Richie-“

Shock horror based on reality was nothing new to him. And apparently, not to other people, either. 

“Is that what’s going on?” Eddie had prompted backstage, causing Richie to raise an eyebrow and continue walking. “Jesus, you sound like we’re on an episode of Cheaters. Is what what?” Yeah, maybe his guilty conscience gave him a hint of what was being implied, but he defaulted to pleading his innocence. “Don’t bullshit me, Richie. Your set- that joke.” He glanced over to see a set of eyes starring back, causing him to roll his own and shake his head. “Again, darling, this isn’t very specific.” “Holy shit- Dude. Are you, like.. Is that why you keep getting sick?” Eddie dodged the words like they were some sort of sickness in themself, and Richie laughed. 

“Oh, you mean the gay jokes? Well, I thought we as a society had moved on from calling homosexuality a disease, but hey, whatever helps you cope.” Richie nodded, humming lowly as his heart raced. He passed the threshold to the dressing room, moving over to the vanity. “Is that your way of asking me to play doctor? To cure my sickness? There’s much simpler ways to get me to undress, Eds, really-“ “Richie!” Eddie grabbed his wrist, halting them both in front of the desks large mirror. 

Richie looked up, and he stared. He stared for a while, registering Eddie’s voice as sound but not quite comprehensive the words. He surely looked the same, or close enough. His knuckles weren’t scarred, and he wasn’t skinny by any means. Looking tired wasn’t odd for him by any stretch of the imagination. But, besides all of the tiredness in his eyes, there was something else. Something void. A type of numbness he wasn’t familiar with, nor did he want to become familiar with. Richie turned to look at the man. 

“It’s not your problem.” Ironic how ill he felt now, given the situation. Eddie had no need to get himself all worked up and stick his nose in it. Their relationship was still semi-new, and hell, the divorce with Myra wasn’t even finalized legally yet. Some stupid teenage-esque bullshit couldn’t be what tore them apart, not after everything. “Are you serious? Richie, you’re my problem!” He laughed slightly, casting his glance away. “Don’t I know it.”

Eddie huffed, moving to slide his arms around his boyfriends torso. “You know what I mean, shut the fuck up. Your problems are my problems.” “There’s not a problem.” Richie mumbled, subconsciously leaning into the smaller man. “It’s only sometimes, it’s not like I’m gonna die.” Another sigh emerged from Eddie, who rubbed Richie’s side semi-cautiously. “Rich.. you’re really freaking me out, you know?”

Richie swallowed before biting his lip, nodding after a moment of thought. “Yeah. I know.” His voice was quiet, and he closed his eyes after leaning his head on the top of Eddie’s. “It really wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.” “I’m sure.” He closed his eyes tighter at Eddie’s sigh. What a great person, honestly. He was out here pulling some stupid shit, and his boyfriend was still here. Like, by choice. It was a little nerve wracking- like he had high expectations of Richie. Disappointment was more of his style, but it never stopped feeling bad. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.” “I know.”

“I.. I don’t know what to do now.” Richie never liked crying. It was something that could be used against him, something to make fun of him for. Besides, his crying face was pretty ugly. He made the executive decision to ignore the tears beginning to slide down his face. “I don’t know either, babe. We’ll figure it out though.” 

Richie nodded solemnly, and Eddie gently squeezed his arms around him. “Okay?”

“I.. yeah. Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> considering writing a recovery center sequel , to showcase the messiness and how non-linear it is. and especially that love won’t fix it. lol 
> 
> who knows. thank you fr reading. <333


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